


blue

by HappyCamper27



Series: you'll come back [4]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Frisk is a poor confused little baby, Gen, Memory Loss, Quite Literally, and everyone needs a hug
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-03
Updated: 2016-11-26
Packaged: 2018-05-11 08:49:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5620819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HappyCamper27/pseuds/HappyCamper27
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everything's gone, flickering away like so much dust in the wind, and all they know is that shadows from a past they barely remember are haunting their steps. But there's so much more to the story that they just don't know--and they're determined to find out.<br/><em>(maybe, in the end, it's better that those memories stay buried.)</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. they started off beneath the knowledge tree

They sit there, for a while, choking back the tears, before they shudder out a breath. The yellow flowers’ sweet scent surrounds them, and they force themself to their feet.

There’s only one way out, and they swallow heavily, their bare feet rubbing into the rough soil.

They walk out, down the corridor. An arch looms above them imposingly, and they breathe deeply, walking through. There’s just a small mound of earth and grass, and they feel like something’s missing—

—they shake their head, dismissing the thought.

They step on the grass, and a single word resounds in their head like a gong.

_Asriel._

They step back, sucking in a gasp.

Who is Asriel?

///

In the end, they walk through the room, and no other words resound in their head.

The stones are old and chipped and worn around them, and some of the puzzles are kind of hard, but they figure it out. It is only when they are approached by a frog-like creature that they even find out where they are.

“Ribbit?” the sound seems to translate in their head, and they find themself hearing words instead. “Human? Why are you here?”

They blink. “Don’t know,” they say, grimacing as the words scrape at their throat. “Where?”

“Where what?”

They lick their lips. “Where…this?” they gesture around at the stones.

“You are in the Ruins, human. You didn’t even know that?”

They shake their head. “Don’t know.”

“What do you know?”

They tilt their head, clenching their fists loosely. “Don’t know.”

“You mean to say that you don’t know what you know?”

They shrug. “Don’t know. Don’t…don’t…” they stop, grasping for the right words. “…don’t ‘member.”

“You don’t remember?”

They shake their head.

“Well…I suppose I should welcome you to the Underground, human. I am a monster known as a Froggit.”

“…monster?”

“Yes,” the Froggit lifts its head proudly. “I am a monster.”

They blink. “ ‘k.”

They step away, clenching and unclenching their fists.

“Be careful, merciful human, not all monsters will be welcoming.” The Froggit calls after them.

They keep walking.

///

There’s a little house, with a tree in front of it and red leaves everywhere. The stones are worn and smooth, and they walk up, running their hand over the cool stones.

They look at the door, wondering if they should knock, but as it turns out, they don’t have to.

Leaves crunch under heavy feet. “Oh, my!” they turn. “A human child?”

It’s another monster, they think, staring at the white fur and small horns. The monster leans down, holding out a hand.

“Are you lost, little one?”

They shrug. “Don’t know.”

The monster looks a little lost, before smiling. “Would you like to come in?” it offers, and they blink before nodding.

“Please,” they say, before wincing as the sounds rasp in their throat.

“I am Toriel,” the monster introduces kindly, holding the door open. “Caretaker of the Ruins. What is your name, dear one?”

They shrug yet again. “Don’t know.”

The smile flickers. “A-ah. I see.” Toriel leads them into the house, paws—or are they hands?—gentle as it—she? He?—takes their shoulders and guides them into a living room and to a fireplace. “Here,” Toriel says, sitting them down in front of the fireplace and tossing in a small log. “Warm yourself by the fire and make yourself at home, my child. Are you hungry?”

As if on cue, their stomach growls loudly. Toriel laughs softly.

“I will take that as an affirmative,” they say, walking past and into another room. “Out of curiosity, which do you prefer: butterscotch or cinnamon?”

They tilt their head, and lick their lips hesitantly. They want to lapse back into silence, but their…host?...is expecting an answer.

“Cinnamon,” they say, not sure why. They don’t even know what ‘cinnamon’ is.

“I see.” Toriel looks abashed all of a sudden. “But you…do not mind butterscotch, do you? I mean to say, you would not turn your nose up if it were on your plate?”

They shake their head, huddling into the warmth of the fire.

“I see!” Toriel smiles. “I will begin making dinner, then, my child. Please, make yourself at home!”

They smile tentatively, curling into the ratty purple sweater that they’re wearing.

They rather like Toriel.

///

Dinner turns out to be a cinnamon-butterscotch pie, and Toriel presents it to them with a bashful smile.

“I hope you like it,” they say. “Since it is only your first night, I thought I would hold off on the snail pie for now.”

They blink, tilting their head. They don’t think they’ve ever heard of snail pie before, and they wonder if it tastes good.

“Please,” Toriel says, cutting them a slice and putting it on their plate. “Eat!”

The first mouthful that enters their mouth is heavenly. The pie filling is sweet and spicy, and thoroughly warming from the inside.

They realize that there is an empty, yawning hole in their belly, and they fall to eating their slice of pie with vigor.

Toriel laughs. “I see that you enjoy it, my child,” they say, their own slice of pie in front of them. “Would you like another?”

They nod, holding out their plate. Toriel smiles indulgently.

“Of course,” Toriel says, cutting them another slice. They almost feel guilty for eating so quickly, but the pie is so very good that they can’t help it.

But Toriel just smiles and laughs, letting them eat their fill until they are full and warm and comfortable.

“Now,” Toriel says once dinner is finished, putting the pie away. “I have a bathtub, if you would like to clean up, my child. You are very dirty.”

They look at themself, blinking at the smudges and dirt that stains their skin. Toriel smiles and takes their hand.

“Yes,” they say, leading them through the house. “I think a bath is in order, dear one.”

Her tone brooks no argument.

They wonder why their chest feels all _warm_ all of a sudden.

///

That night, they are laying in the bed that Toriel has given them, in the room that Toriel has said is theirs. They stare at the orange-red walls, curling into their chest which is hurting all of a sudden with a painful, painful _ache_.

It hurts, like someone’s carved out a hole in their chest, and they can’t help the tiny tremble that overtakes their body.

Toriel has been so very kind to them; they don’t know how to pay the monster back for the food and the water and everything.

They shut their eyes, clenching their hands into fists, trying to slip into the oblivion of sleep so they won’t have to face this confusing aching of pain and warmth and things that they just don’t understand.

As they fall asleep, a word sighs out in their mind, warm and almost-familiar.

_Mom…_


	2. He stumbled into faith and thought

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s almost—if they dare to say it—magical.

“Would you like to return to the surface with me, my child?”

Toriel’s voice is gentle, and they look up at her—for she is a she, they found out.

The surface…they think over the word for a moment. Surface. What does it even mean, really? They think that maybe they should know, but they don’t.

“Many humans like yourself live on the surface,” Toriel continues, “and many monsters as well. I must take leave of this place soon, to rejoin my husband and keep order. Truthfully,” she looked a little sheepish, “I would love to have you join me. The Ruins are a very small place once you get used to them, and I would feel ever so guilty at leaving you here alone.”

Humans? Monsters? They don’t really understand the distinction, but they nod.

“You will come?” Toriel smiles brightly as they nod again. “Wonderful! Would you like me to help you pack your clothes, or would you like to do it yourself?”

“Self,” they say, and Toriel’s smile saddens a bit. They still don’t like talking—their voice grates in their throat, harsh and gritty, and they cringe away from speaking when they can.

“As you wish, my child. Now, would you help me with the dishes?”

They nod, a smile pulling at their mouth, and gather up the dishes.

Toriel hums as she washes the dishes in soapy water, and they listen as they dry the dishes with a towel. It’s a boring job, sometimes, but they don’t mind. It’s familiar enough, now.

They don’t really know how long they’ve spent with Toriel here, in the Ruins, watching people pass through the door wearing lab coats and rough clothes and goggles, but they like it.

It’s…home.

///

Their bags are light, since they don’t have very much. A few changes of clothes—sweaters and pants, mostly, but several pairs of thick socks that Toriel insisted they bring.

“Socks are very important,” she had said firmly. They hadn’t argued.

The walk through the Ruins was far easier now, and Toriel smiled at the passing monsters, going about their daily lives. It’s a long walk, passing through the many puzzles that littered the Ruins.

They tug at Toriel’s sleeve, and she glances down at them.

“What is it, my child?”

They point at the puzzles, and force the word from their throat. “Why?”

“Why did we build puzzles?” they nod, and Toriel huffs out a laugh. “It started as a diversion,” she explained. “The families of the workers at the Core had children who needed to be entertained. So their parents started giving them puzzles, to keep them occupied. Eventually, the puzzles started to get larger and more elaborate, and soon the Ruins were littered with them.” She shakes her head, smiling. “We have all gotten to used to the puzzles, so much so that I barely even notice them anymore.”

They nod, and she reaches out and ruffles their hair gently.

“Do not worry, they are simple, once you have become accustomed to them.”

They don’t mention how they’ve already made their way through them once before, or how they’ve ventured back this way once or twice in a fit of exploratory curiosity. It would only make her worry, and they don’t want that.

Eventually, they stop, and they glance up at Toriel. She is staring up, and they look up too, not quite realizing what she was looking at.

“It must be late afternoon,” she murmurs. They look at her quizzically. She glances down at them, before smiling and explaining. “The climb to the surface from here is long and narrow. It is not a climb to be made in the dark, and will take several hours.” She sighs. “There has been talk, lately, of going further into the mountain to find another way out, closer to the Core, and less dangerous, but it is too dangerous for the moment.”

They look away, and Toriel laughs.

“Do not worry, my child. Soon, we will be on the surface, and from there it will be only a few hours walk to Home.”

They nod, and abruptly they realize where they are. The yellow flowers sitting so innocently in front of them are unmistakable, and a sting of _something_ throbs in their chest.

It hurts, and they don’t like it.

_Asriel._

They shake their head, as though trying to shake off those quietly whispered words, full of something sad and painful and so very hopeful.

“Is something wrong, my child?”

They look up at Toriel once more, and they shake their head. No, nothing’s wrong, not really. Their head is just playing tricks on them.

They very studiously avoid looking at the flowers that litter the sides of the path as they begin the steep hike upwards.

After all, nothing’s wrong. They just don’t like the flowers, nor the sweet smell of butterscotch.

Nothing’s wrong.

(they’re lying and they know it.)

///

Their first view of the surface is cast in sunset, the light turning the clouds red, and the treetops a brilliant shade of orangey-yellow.

They feel their breath catching in their throat, sharp like daggers, as they stare at the sea of trees below and the yellow-orange-red-pink sky fading into deep blues and purples.

“It is pretty, is it not?” Toriel asks, and they just nod, breathless and in awe. “Look, there is Home,” Toriel says, pointing. And they can see it, all white stone dyed a bloody red in the dying light.

If this is the surface, then they think that maybe, they chose right in going with Toriel. Because this—this is amazing, breathtaking, and so many other things that they don’t have the words to describe. But that’s all right; they don’t need those words. Not yet.

“We will stay here for the night, and make our way to Home in the morning.” Toriel says, and they nod blankly, not really paying attention. Toriel laughs. “Oh, my child.”

She ruffles their hair affectionately, her claws parting their hair gently. She’s always very careful.

They both stand there, watching the sun set, and the dying light fade away, the stars coming out and painting the sky with their twinkling lights.

The moon is dim, but the stars are bright, and they spend perhaps longer than they should watching them, Toriel telling them stories about the stars and the constellations.

It’s almost—if they dare to say it—magical.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Toriel is very wordy in this...haha, she just had a lot to say.  
> Thank you all so much for reading and enjoying!  
> EDIT:  
> Me and a friend opened up a [blog](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/the-box-is-a-myth)! Please come take a look. It's a place where all head cannons are accepted--even the unpopular ones. We come up with new ones too.


	3. The pictures in his mind arose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There’s darkness there, they think, and so much pain it makes their stomach curdle; nostalgia so sharp it’s like knives and helpless agony like fire burning away everything.

Home is…huge. And very, very white. The city is sprawling and busy, monsters going about their business. Toriel’s hand is very soft and warm as she leads them through the bustling streets, keeping them from getting lost in the throng. Which, considering that they can’t really see much past the torsos of most of the people around them, is something they think is a good thing.

More than that, however, is the _noise_.

The Ruins were quiet, for the most part. The city is loud and bustling and they can’t help but cringe as the cacophony of sounds assault their ears.

Soon, though, they’re at the gates of the castle they had seen the previous evening. They are greeted by two guards—or, rather, Toriel is.

“Welcome back, Your Majesty! Like, it’s great to see you again.” One says, and the other simply nods. Toriel smiles, just a bit.

“It is good to be back,” she says simply, and the guards open the gates with a loud, creaky noise.

Then, one of them pauses.

“Hey, uh, is that--?”

Toriel stiffens, and her gaze turns sharp. “They are with me,” she snaps, and the guard steps back.

“Okay, like, whatever you say, Your Majesty,” he says, glancing down at them. They tilt their head, looking back at him. Toriel gently tugs them along.

“Come now, my child,” she says lightly, “we have a little further to go before we can stop properly.”

As though on cue, their stomach growls loudly, gurgling. The two guards jump, startled, and Toriel laughs. “You are very hungry, it seems. Let us go, and I will see to getting you supper soon, my child.”

They nod, and follow along as she leads them deeper into the castle. It’s really big, they think vaguely, staring up at the towering walls and battlements and spires and flags waving in the wind.

It’s impressive, really, they think, and, for a split second, they think of deep darkness and a mirror-home, all grays and whites and harboring sad stories and secrets.

And then the moment passes, and they shake their head, trying to chase away the remaining fragments of maybe-memory. They’re _here, now_ , and maybe-memories won’t help them stay close to Toriel.

There will be time for maybe-memories later, they tell themself, keeping their gaze focused on Toriel’s graceful form.

Later.

///

When it is finally later, after a filling dinner, they sit on a bed— _their bed,_ now—and think.

The King is very…gentle, they think. He is kindly and soft-touching, and his very large hands had oh-so-carefully taken theirs and shook it as he leaned down, cape pooling around him.

And yet…and yet. He had seemed tense all through the dinner, and even though he tried to be polite and welcoming, they knew that he wasn’t comfortable. Something was wrong—and they hadn’t missed the way he had stared at them at first, before he had shaken their hand.

He had looked like they were a hissing snake, fangs bared and dripping deadly poison, that had suddenly risen from tall grass; equal parts afraid and shocked.

It’s both very new and oddly familiar, and they shudder. The maybe-memories have been tugging in their head, whispering nonsensically in their ears ever since they entered the castle. It’s nearly overwhelming, to feel such familiarity and almost images flickering behind their eyes.

They clench their hands into fists, watching their knuckles turn white. They know that Toriel wants them to remember; remember the things that have been flickering on the edge of consciousness, on the edge of being known. But they’re not sure they want to.

There’s darkness there, they think, and so much pain it makes their stomach curdle; nostalgia so sharp it’s like knives and helpless agony like fire burning away everything.

They flop back, their messy hair fanning out around their head like a halo.

That’s it, they think. These maybe-memories are like fire, like the sun, hot and burning and careless, consuming everything in their path without a second thought. Fierce and painful, and so bright that the shadows they hold are all the darker.

Their head aches, now, and they breathe deeply, pushing away the fiery bright maybe-memories.

They should sleep; there’s surely a busy day ahead tomorrow, with a huge castle to explore and learn. Not to mention whatever Toriel and the King—what was his name? Asgore? They shudder as the name makes their head ache all the more—have planned for them.

They lay there, staring at the ceiling for a few more moments, trying not to think, trying not to feel.

They close their eyes, letting themself slip into sleep.

(their dreams are not sweet, nor are they quiet.

 

Instead, they are fire and heat and cold and ice, words echoing around them like a death sentence as dust coats everything around them and stains their sleeves, clinging like flour, but never so innocent.)

 

(There’s blue and yellow and gold and white—so, so much white, everywhere.

 

And then there’s the red.

It makes them feel sick to their stomach, as words they can’t quite understand are breathed out like prayers, so very, very sad with such an undertone of despair that their heart aches with it.)

 

(it’s gold and blue and yellow and white—always, always those colors. Repeating, over and over, with the faintest echoes of pain and rage reaching them in some dark place.

 

It’s a horror movie stuck on repeat that they can’t quite understand, and they just want it to _end_. If that means sinking into the white flour-dust and screaming and spilling red on golden floors—

—well. Who knows?)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this took a while. There are reasons though--the same ones as to why updates will take a bit longer than before. Mostly it's RL and having so much stuff to get done that when I do have time to write, I just want to shut my brain off and not think.  
> The other reason is....*drum roll* I'm working on a book! Well, more like laying out the framework, currently, but still. It's going to be my NaNo project this year, so I've been devoting a lot of time to working on that. If you're interested, I post concept art of the characters--drawn by me and/or friends who are being wonderful betas--on my tumblr, @ridasverkisto. To find the stuff for the book, it's all filed under #for book idea on my aforementioned tumblr.
> 
> Now, with that out of the way, I would just like to thank all of you so much because hoLY CRAP I DID NOT EXPECT PEOPLE TO LIKE THIS SERIES THIS MUCH.  
> SERIOUSLY. YOU'RE ALL AMAZING.  
> (as a note, I am currently working on a prequel to _better days are near_ that will show some backstory and possibly help clear somethings up? Most of things will be revealed in _blue_ and _til the sun goes down_ , but the prequel might help too. I'll probably post it alongside the next chapter of _til the sun goes down_ , but I'm not sure.)


	4. and began to breathe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They blink, and they can’t even breathe.

There’s something missing. They’re not quite sure what it is; there’s only a vague sense of it, pulling at their thoughts every time they look around.

Toriel is in a meeting with the King, with Asgore, and they’ve been left to wander on their own in the castle. It’s huge, and they can’t help staring out the windows in awe at the sky above, arching like a ceiling that can’t be touched.

It’s sometime around noon, they think, when they finally run into someone. Or, rather, someone runs into them.

“I’m very sorry! Are you alright?” The voice is loud, and they flinch just a bit, turning to see a friendly, blinding grin. White eyes stare down at them, surrounded by deep black eyesockets. They nod, hesitantly, and the skeleton-monster laughs. “I’m Papyrus, tiny one! What’s your name?”

They tilt their head, and shrug. A name hasn’t really been important, not with it just being them and Toriel down there in the Ruins. None of the other monsters really talked to them, and names hadn’t been needed—after all, they were the only non-monster down there.

Papyrus pauses for a moment, before smiling again. “Okay! That’s okay! Say, tiny one, have you seen my brother? I’ve been looking for him! That lazybones is supposed to be with us when we have lunch, but he’s not here!” Papyrus fumes, before gesturing wildly. “He’s short, and wears a blue jacket and always naps!!”

They can’t remember seeing anyone like that, so they shake their head. Papyrus sighs, before perking up.

“Oh well! Would you like to help me find him, tiny one?”

They nod, not even bothering to push down the smile that’s dragging at their lips. Papyrus laughs, and he starts off down the corridor, quickly outspeeding them. They’re left running after him, and eventually he turns to look at them consideringly. He kneels down in front of them, clothes bunching oddly around his frame.

“Tiny one, would you like to ride on my shoulders?” he asks, holding out a hand to them. “That way we can find my lazybones brother so much faster!”

For a moment, they’re frozen, his pose echoing something in their maybe-memories. Something catches in their chest, and it _hurts_ , and they swallow roughly. Papyrus tilts his head, concern flickering onto his face.

“Tiny one?”

Before he can say anymore, they nod quickly, shoving away the prickling pain. He brightens, and scoops them up easily, settling them neatly on his shoulders.

“Wowie!” he exclaims. “You’re very light, tiny one! Now, let’s go find my brother!”

///

Papyrus is very fun, they decide. He’s bright, and cheerful, and despite the ache that hides in their chest when they’re with him, they find themself laughing and cheering during their near-comical search of the castle.

It’s nearly an hour later that they find his brother, napping in a blue puddle in a warm stretch of sunlight. Papyrus huffs and storms up to his brother, and they look around in mild curiosity. They’ve been in this part of the castle before; it’s not far from where Toriel and the King are, they think.

“Brother! Wake up, you lazybones!” the blue puddle barely shifts, and a single eye peers up at them.

“hey bro.”

“Sans!” Papyrus fumes. “We are _supposed_ to be at lunch with the Doctor! Come on!!”

This, surprisingly— _surprisingly??—_ galvanizes the blue puddle to sit up rather sharply.

“oh. is that now?”

“ _Yes!”_ Papyrus stomps his foot frustratedly, glowering at his brother—Sans. “ _And Their Majesties!”_

Sans shifts, looking guilty. “sorry bro. let’s go, yeah?”

“We better!” Papyrus huffs. “We spent an hour looking for you, brother!”

Sans grins, and they flinch back, just a bit. “sorry. ya must really be worked to the bone, huh?”

Papyrus freezes, and turns to stare back at Sans. “ _Sans_!” he nearly shrieks, and Sans laughs.

“sorry bro. let’s go.”

Papyrus turns to head back the way they came, but they tap on his head. Now that they recognize where they are, they know that the dinner room had been the _other_ direction.

“What is it, tiny one?” Papyrus asks patiently, turning his head just a little. They point the other way, and he blinks. “We should go the other way?” they nod, and he grins. “Wowie, you’re really good at this, tiny one!!”

They blink as Papyrus just sort of… _scoops_ Sans up in his arm, striding off in the right direction this time. Sans, for his part, just hangs there lazily.

_Something_ is ringing in the back of their head, and it’s all they can do not to stare.

///

“Oh, there you are, my child!” Toriel’s exclamation brings Papyrus to an abrupt stop.

“Your Majesty?” he asks, in the middle of setting Sans back on his feet. Toriel smiles from where she stands in the middle of the doorway.

“Hello, Papyrus, Sans. How are you?”

“great.”

“Wonderful! Thank you, Your Majesty!”

Toriel nods, before looking at them. “I was about to send someone to find you, my child. Are you all right?”

They nod, and Papyrus gently removes them from his shoulders, setting them down beside Sans. “You know Her Majesty, tiny one?” he asks, and they nod. Toriel laughs, just a little bit, stepping forward to ruffle their hair and take their hand.

“Indeed. They are staying with me for the moment.” She turns, gesturing to the doorway. “Please, come in. The food is ready, and both Asgore and Doctor Gaster are here as well.”

She looks down at them, warmly curious. “Did you have fun, little one?” they nod, and she laughs. “That is wonderful! Now, have you washed your hands?”

They shake their head—there hasn’t been any time. She tuts, just a bit, before smiling. “Very well. Let us go wash our hands before dinner, yes?”

She leads them into the room, and they sigh as the warm, delicious smells of the food waft over them. Toriel laughs, and soon they’re trotting by the huge table.

They stop cold, something striking in their head.

It’s not like all day today, with hints of something missing or wrong or _twisted_ or guilty. This is…this is like being slapped, or dragged in two different directions at once.

They’re being tugged in too many directions all at once, even as their eyes meet brilliant white ones, set in a starkly white face.

_Something_ rings, and all of a sudden they’re reminded of a death knell. This isn’t—it’s not—it _can’t_ —

They blink, and they can’t even breathe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Papyrus is...surprisingly hard to keep in character in this. Huh.  
> Anyway, see y'all next time.


	5. and they chopped it down to make white picket fences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It makes a chill ripple down their spine, unease prickling under their skin like fire ants and black widows. This is very, _very wrong._

_Gaster_. _Fragmented, sorrowful, gray shadow._

…

_How could they ever have forgotten?_

_This monster—they know. He did_ something _. Saved them._

_Somehow._

_They don’t remember everything, but now—they know it’s just a matter of time._

_Because there’s still more, and there’s_ something they have to do.

///

Waking up is hard, like pushing through thick sludge. Their eyes don’t want to open, and they _hurt_. Not just their head, or their chest, which—why did they expect that? Nevertheless, their whole body hurts, down to their very bones, and even deeper, like gnarled, parasitic roots seeking prey.

They open their eyes anyway.

They wince, because the light is _very_ bright, and then they hear a low, steady tapping. _Bone_ , they think as a faint click joins the tapping for a moment, then fades out. 

“awake, huh?”

It’s the smaller skeleton—they can’t remember his name, but there’s something in their chest that _aches_. He’s familiar. For more than one reason, they think.

“their majesties are pretty worried ‘bout ya, kid.” The tapping slows, then resumes its steady rhythm. “gave ‘em a scare. though—i’d like to know why ya fell over like that too, to be honest.”

They force themself to sit up, through the aching near-agony, and meet the skeleton’s sharp, assessing gaze. He laughs, winks lazily.

“c’mon. i’ll go let ‘em know you’re okay. me and the doc can wait another day, i guess.”

The skeleton shuffles up, and they know there’s a heaviness in his eyes that makes their blood chill. They’re—all too familiar with it. From him in particular, even though they can’t remember why. _Suspicion._

What have they done? Nothing, that they can remember. But—they know now, don’t they? There’s far more to their amnesia—what a funny word to remember—than they had thought. Those words, names…they rang with a finality that made them shiver.

_Asriel. Mom._  

…

_(gold and yellow and blue and red and white)_

_…_

_—And a sad, lonely shadow who fell and is always falling and will always fall, and yet his fall ended before the very first light of the universe flared into being._

///

Toriel is very worried when she bustles in, the King a gentle shadow at the door behind her.

“Are you well, my child?” she asks, handing them a glass of water, and they shrug and nod, because they don’t really think anything can be done about the aching. But, as always— _and don’t those words ring false?_ —she sees right through them. “Gorey,” she says, turning to the King. “Would you fetch a healer? Perhaps Lacey, or Prisma?”

The King shuffles a moment, nodding, but then another voice, cool and alien breaks in.

“Your majesty, I have a pain reliever with me—Prisma had asked me to bring them with me. I’m sure she won’t mind some being used for your ward.”

“Thank you, Doctor Gaster,” Toriel says, and there’s a gratitude in those words that has guilt prickling at them, even though they didn’t even do it intentionally. Then, they look up.

His resemblance to the gray shadow is a vague, smoky thing, like he has yet to break and collapse like those others did. It makes a chill ripple down their spine, unease prickling under their skin like fire ants and black widows. This is very, _very wrong_.

His fingers don’t clack, or click or clatter like they had thought they might as he hands Toriel a small pill bottle, which rattles a bit as she carefully pops it open.

“One should be enough,” the Doctor says, “though keeping another few might be wise, just in case.”

Toriel nods, and they want to throw the pills she passes to them away, throw them at the wall and watch in satisfaction as they shatter into dust, because there is something so very, very _wrong_ about this that they feel almost sick. They take the pill anyway, their head ringing with that low, solemn death knell noise.

As they swallow the pill down, the sensation of it lost in the wash of cool, blessed water, the Doctor takes the opportunity to take a chair, sitting near the foot of the bed. 

“If I may ask,” he says slowly, “why did you collapse like that, child?” he taps a finger on the wooden arm of the chair, thoughtful. “You went white the moment you saw my face, and then toppled over like a castle of cards in the wind.”

_Because you’re not supposed to be here_ , they want to say. _Because you helped me,_ they want to say. _Because there’s something you did that’s jarred my memories,_ they want to say.

They don’t say any of that. Instead, they settle for, “I remembered something.”

Toriel sucks in a gasp, and the Doctor’s gaze turns sharp. The King steps forward, huge hand coming to rest on the back of Toriel’s chair as his face turns curiously stern. 

“What do you mean, my child?” Toriel asks, and they suppress a shiver as that familiarity rings in their head again, because unease and comforting familiarity is a discomforting mix, they think. They think, though, gathering their words carefully, because something tells them that they can’t tell some things. There’s a line they have to walk. Somehow.

“Someone…like him,” they begin haltingly, voice rasping deep in their throat in a way that makes them wince, “helped me. Kind of.”

“Helped you how, child?” the Doctor asks, when Toriel falls silent, seemingly processing those words.

They shrug. “Into the Ruins.” They pause, tilt their head. “I think.”

Does what the gray shadow did qualify for that? They’re not sure.

The Doctor lets loose a low humming noise, fingers twitching. 

“I see,” he says, and they wait for a moment, waiting for him to say more, but he doesn’t. The King sighs softly, breath whooshing from deep in his chest. It’s a sad, weary sound that makes their chest ache with a painful familiarity that they’re sure will drive them crazy. 

He kneels at the bedside, lowering himself to be able to look them in the eyes without towering over them. “Thank you for telling us, child,” he says, rumbly voice warming something deep in their chest. “Please, tell us if you remember anything else. In the meantime—you will be welcome here, for as long as you wish to stay.”

Toriel nods, hands gentle as they smooth hair away from their face. “Of course, my child. Thank you for telling us.”

She acts as though the words that the King had said had been an easy, expected thing, but they know that they weren’t. She’d stiffened, and her face had tightened, just a bit, when the King had been talking, and the Doctor—

Their eyes glance over to where he’s sitting, face tight and pensive, white lab coat covering his willowy form like armor. His hands are clenched, and for a moment— _just a moment_ —his image is overlaid with that of the gray shadow, blue and orange flickering at the edges of his form like sparks, or fire.

This Doctor— _he had never fallen._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)

**Author's Note:**

> So. Here's that other sequel that I mentioned. This and _til the sun goes down_ will be updated alternately.  
>  Also, story and chapter title(s) are taken from Blue Lips by Regina Spektor; if you haven't heard it...well, go listen to it. There's a lyric-comic for it and it's amazing.  
> Thank you all for listening!


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